


Exertion

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [103]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Do you think three tiers is enough tiers?” Jared asks.“Uh,” Bryce says. “For the cake?”“Yeah,” Jared says.“Yeah, I mean, we’re only feeding fifteen people,” Bryce says.“I know,” Jared says. “I just kind of want an obnoxiously fuck you big cake now.”





	Exertion

Jared spends the entire time Bryce is at his meeting stressing. Like, more than he even stressed about his own meetings. Maybe because it’s not something in his control, maybe because he’s worried Bryce will lose it on them — not that they wouldn’t deserve it — fuck up his relationship with the Flames organization even more than it already is. It doesn’t matter what the reason is; he’s jumpy, and itchy, and can’t stay still for more than a minute at a time, focus on anything for more than a few seconds.

He repeatedly texts Chaz, who tells him to fuck off because he’s sleeping in, and Raf, who tells him to fuck off because he’s having a nap, but in a nicer way than Chaz did. All of Jared’s stupid friends and their stupid sleep because they’re in the playoffs and they’re tired. And not one of them has figured out how to put a damn ‘do not disturb’ on their phone before they hit the bed. Amateurs.

Jared texts Julius, who does not tell him to fuck off because he’s sleeping, since it’s like nine p.m. where he is, and if he was asleep, Jared would be judging him. Julius sends him a selfie of his unimpressed face when Jared maybe sends him six texts in like, two minutes. Jared sends a middle finger right back, and Julius ignores the next six texts Jared sends. What’s the point of having friends if they’re not going to respond in a timely manner? Bryce does, but Jared can’t text him right now, so instead he goes back to the sketched out wedding plans on his phone. 

Wedding planning feels particularly good when you’re doing it spitefully. Things Jared wasn’t overly concerned with are suddenly important. Fuck yes they’re going to wear tuxes and have the stupidly expensive catering Bryce wants. If Bryce wants a fucking ice sculpture in the middle of summer Jared would probably okay it right now, just as long as he could send a picture of it to Oilers PR.

_Do you think three tiers is enough tiers?_ Jared texts Julius, and Julius finally responds to him, but just with a cupcake emoji over and over.

Bryce comes home after two hours, and Jared is given a pretty solid example of Chaz’s reports of the discrepancy between Bryce’s gloss on the phone with Jared versus Bryce in reality, because his face is a fucking thundercloud until he realises Jared’s looking at him, and once he does it gets very — neutral. The epitome of ‘fine’.

“How’d it go?” Jared asks.

“Fine,” Bryce says.

“How’d it really go?” Jared asks.

The ‘fine’ face cracks a little, and that’s enough answer, which is good, because Bryce isn’t giving him a verbal one.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jared asks.

“Not really,” Bryce says, and it sounds more like ‘fuck no’.

“Do you want to punch the shit out of some punching bags?” Jared asks.

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “Sounds good.”

They get day-passes for the gym down the street, since their building isn’t equipped with punching bags and they’re sure as shit not going to walk into Flames territory right now. Jared’s not super used to working with punching bags — look, when you have a sum total of zero career fights, it’s not one of your priorities — but Bryce clearly is. Which makes sense, considering his career fights is not zero. At all. Like, he’s hardly an enforcer, but he’s a guy who can lose his temper at the drop of the hat, and opponents are happy to have some plug in the box in exchange for the Flames losing their top-scorer.

And Jared knows how much upper-body strength Bryce has, compared to the average person — hell, compared to Jared, who has way more than the average person, even though it’s considered one of his deficits — but damn. If punching bags could beg for mercy, Bryce’s would be sobbing. And that’s a truly shitty sign for how the meeting went, probably, and that bothers Jared, but also — Jared gets some punching in, and it’s pretty satisfying, but eventually he’s just watching Bryce _demolish_ whoever he’s picturing right now.

Jared’s at least ninety percent sure people have recognised Bryce, so he keeps it low when he leans in while Bryce is taking a long-overdue water break, shirt plastered to his back, and says, “Is it weird to say you look hot when you’re punching things?”

Bryce laughs a little breathlessly. “You hate when I fight,” he says.

“Yeah, but when you’re fighting guys are throwing punches back,” Jared says. “And I kinda like your face.”

“Kinda?” Bryce asks.

“A little bit,” Jared allows. “It’s pretty okay.”

They don’t fuck in the gym showers when they’re through getting rid of the aggression, because a) gross, and b) they’re not idiots looking to get caught, even though both their teams would fucking deserve it at this point. They do, however, fuck in their own shower — no matter how many times Jared swears they’re never going to do that again, usually while nursing a minor injury, he gets Bryce naked and wet in an enclosed space with him and things go badly. Well, they go badly for his self-discipline; they go pretty okay otherwise. Neither of them even need an ice pack after.

Between the double dose of endorphins and the satisfaction of punching something repeatedly while maybe picturing a few people in his organization, the restless, fidgety energy Jared’s been holding all day has been expended, and he’s almost — _almost_ — chill. Well, as chill as he’s been in awhile, so comparatively chill. Chill-ish. 

Chill enough to make dinner, Bryce chill enough lean against the doorway and tell him about his meeting as he watches Jared chop. Jared’s pretty sure he’s censoring some stuff, or at least downplaying, but he can’t really judge when he did the exact same thing to Bryce when he was in Edmonton, not wanting to put the extra stress on him. And even though it’s kind of different, considering Bryce is in the middle of a playoff series and Jared’s just being basically his house husband and disloyal to the Oilers cheerleader until he starts up offseason training, he doubts Bryce sees it that way.

“Summers was less of a douche than usual, at least,” Bryce says. “Like, he asked how you were doing, which he’s never done, and for once he was super rude to someone who wasn’t me, so that was cool.”

“How am I doing?” Jared says.

“You’re pissed off,” Bryce says. Jared guesses he wasn’t glossing over shit with Summers.

“Fair enough,” Jared says. He’d throw a ‘fucking’ in there, but it’s fundamentally accurate.

“That’s what he said,” Bryce says. 

“Any yelling?” Jared asks.

“No yelling,” Bryce says. “Summers says they already got it out when they were meeting with just him.”

Well, at least there’s that. 

“They tell you not to marry me?” Jared asks.

“You didn’t tell me they told you not to marry me,” Bryce says.

“They didn’t,” Jared says. “You know they asked me to hold off, though.”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “So did the Flames.”

“Do you think three tiers is enough tiers?” Jared asks.

“Uh,” Bryce says. “For the cake?”

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“Yeah, I mean, we’re only feeding fifteen people,” Bryce says.

“I know,” Jared says. “I just kind of want an obnoxiously fuck you big cake now.”

Bryce laughs. “Whatever you want, we can do.”

“Cool,” Jared says. “You still want that crazy expensive catering company?”

“I mean, you keep looking at price per person, but it’s not that much when we only have—”

“You can go ahead and book them,” Jared says.

“Yeah?” Bryce says.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Though like, fair warning, we better get on that or my dad will probably offer to do it himself and—”

“I’ll get my mom to email them,” Bryce says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. She’s been pretty handy for inquiries that shouldn’t be from ‘Bryce fucking Marcus, yeah that one’. “Hey, is mid-July too soon for the wedding? That huge lake house you thought it’d be cool to rent out just told mom they got a cancellation then.”

Jared would literally marry him tomorrow if Bryce wasn’t so aghast at the idea of eloping.

“I know we haven’t ironed out, like—” Bryce says.

“Book it,” Jared interrupts.

“Yeah?” Bryce says.

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“Cool,” Bryce says, grinning down at his phone. “I’ll shoot my mom the deposit.”

*

Elaine comes into town the morning of Game Three, and Jared tries not to feel like their space is being invaded, because like — it’s Elaine. And she’s not even staying in their guest room, but a hotel a block away from their place, saying she doesn’t want to mess with Bryce’s routine in the middle of playoffs, because she’s Elaine and she’s the best.

So like, it’s objectively stupid to feel a little off-kilter before she arrives, like he has to share Bryce, because between pre-game and the game and all that, frankly she’s going to be seeing more of Jared than Bryce anyway. Maybe it’s just — their apartment has kind of been their bubble. They’ve taken calls and sent texts and had to respond to stupid emails and stuff, but at the same time it’s like, safely a place just for two of them, and Elaine walking in the door changes that, even if she’s basically the safest person in the world.

He knows he’s being selfish, and he knows Bryce is like, giddy to have her here, and he can’t blame him, considering the first thing he did when he hit a Bryce-less Calgary was head straight to his parents’. And Bryce and Elaine are way closer. Not that Jared’s not close to his parents or anything, just like — he’s never met anyone as close to their mom as Bryce is. Like, Jared may have to consider her his competition as Bryce’s best friend close. Unlike Bryce, however, he is willing to share that role, as long as he has dibs on the husband bit.

She walks in the door literally exuding spring — impressive considering there’s still some dirty slush on the ground — gives Jared one of those surprisingly strong hugs that belies her size, and Bryce one where he just like, collapses into her, and then they disappear into the guest room, even though she’s not staying here, in a blatant ‘this is a private conversation, Jared, stay out’.

Jared doesn’t feel left out. Well, Jared feels a little left out, but like — he remembers those calls he was making to his parents in Edmonton, venting at them so he wasn’t venting at Bryce, so he makes them all lunch and is only a little tiny bit curious about what they’re saying. Probably ‘fuck the Flames’. Well, Jared can’t see Elaine saying fuck, but something along those lines.

They come out when Jared’s finishing up — pasta primavera, since Bryce needs the carbs before the game, with a heaping of parmesan for him and Elaine and none for Bryce. Bryce sulks when he’s handed it, but clears his plate, looking shifty enough when he goes back for seconds that Jared feels entitled to say, “I hid the cheese,” even though he actually didn’t.

Bryce comes back with a cheese-less half portion and an indignant look. “I wasn’t going to add any,” he says.

“Liar,” Jared says.

“Mom,” Bryce complains.

“Bear, you know you’re a bad liar,” Elaine says. 

“I wasn’t going to add cheese,” Bryce mutters — the liar — but sits down and viciously grates pepper on his plate like it’ll replace the cheese he’s not supposed to have.

Elaine goes to check into her hotel when Bryce heads out for pregame, comes back an hour before puck drop to come with Jared to his parents’ for dinner and the game. Bryce offered to get her a ticket, but she claimed she wanted to watch it with people who care, and like, she’d be around a lot of people who cared if she watched it at the Saddledome, but according to Bryce that was Elaine for ‘I want to watch it with Jared and obviously we can’t sit together at the Saddledome, in case any of the camera guys recognise me and decide to zoom in and then find me sitting next to an Oiler’. Which makes sense.

Erin drops the ‘I don’t know how hockey works’ b.s. while Elaine’s there, which is good, because if Jared had to tell her one more time that icing doesn’t persist during the power play, while he’s already grit-tooth watching the Flames kill it, well — 

Jared should not kill his sister. Thanks to Elaine he probably won’t.

It’d be kind of funny watching the way Elaine watches the game, hands over her mouth, edge of her seat, if he wasn’t busy at the edge of his own seat. The only one who isn’t is Erin, and that’s because she’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, stupid head in Jared’s way half the time, until dad lobs an empty Kleenex box at her and she finally quits blocking the TV.

The Flames take it, though it takes a double-overtime to do it, the living room quiet and tense for hours, even Erin, and Jared’s wiped by the time they’re driving back, just from watching. Bryce must be dead on his feet, especially with the minutes they were playing him. He makes a mental note to put Gatorade and aspirin by the bed when he gets home, double check they’ve got ice packs in the freezer.

Elaine’s got this funny little smile on her face when he pulls onto the highway — it’s deserted at this hour, though downtown won’t be, everyone streaming out of the Saddledome and bars — kind of happy, which, obviously, the Flames won, but then, kind of not too.

“You okay?” Jared asks.

“Of course,” Elaine says. “It was a great game.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “The Flames looked really strong out there.”

“I know Bear hasn’t talked to you much about his meetings with the Flames,” Elaine says, kind of apropos of nothing. Or maybe apropos of something she’s been wanting to talk about all day, finally decided to now that’s it’s just the two of them.

Jared glances over. He assumes Bryce has talked to her about it, and he wonders if she’s prompting him to ask about it, but like — if Bryce didn’t tell him, it’s kind of not his right to ask his mom about things.

“I figured he didn’t want to stress me out,” Jared says.

“He doesn’t,” Elaine says. “And I know he feels guilty about the spot he’s put you in.”

“What?” Jared says. “I’m the one who put him on the spot by telling the Oilers before his season was through.”

“But you would have had to tell them before the wedding,” Elaine says. “And telling them affects your career more than his.”

“How?” Jared asks. “He’s the high-profile player.”

“That’s my point,” Elaine says. “There’s always going to be a team that thinks his play makes a potential scandal worth it.”

And that isn’t true of Jared. He honestly like — his dad’s been telling him that since before he was drafted, that a team might decide it wasn’t worth the PR headache, pissing off the homophobic fans. And he knew that, intellectually he knew his dad was right, it’s just — he didn’t expect it to go as bad as it did. Maybe that was naive. Maybe seeing the Leafs standing behind Lapointe and Riley had him thinking that, except, well, the Leafs had just won the Cup, with a lot of help from Lapointe, and it’s not like they stood by them all that long after that. And Lapointe’s miles better than Jared, Bryce level, so it was stupid probably to think he’d get the same treatment. 

“Have the Flames been threatening to trade him?” Jared asks. He’s not dumb, and the way Elaine’s talking —

She shakes her head. “Not seriously,” she says. 

‘Not seriously’ isn’t ‘no’.

“Not seriously,” Jared repeats.

“They know what they have in him,” she says. “And they’re in win now mode. They won’t trade a their best asset.”

That’s also not ‘no’. And sounds more like Bryce, or, more likely, Summers, than it does Elaine. 

Jared notices he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel, forces himself to relax. “They say anything else?” Jared asks. Apparently not wanting to pry into anything Bryce didn’t tell him ended when he found out Bryce might be on the trade-block.

“They asked him to wait until next summer,” Elaine says. “For the wedding.”

To give them time to trade him first. And obviously the answer was no, considering Bryce wants to be married in July.

“Well,” Jared says. “Sucks to be them, I guess.”

Elaine flashes a grin at him, white teeth there and gone in the dark. 

“Sorry,” Jared says. “For making him deal with this. Really. He wouldn’t be dealing with this if it wasn’t for me.”

“He would do it a thousand times for you, you know that, right?” Elaine asks.

He knows. It kind of makes him feel worse.

“He’s the one who proposed,” Elaine says. “He knew what he might be getting into if you were a legal unit. He thought it was worth it.”

“But you don’t?” Jared asks.

“Of course I do,” Elaine says. “Family’s always meant more than anything to Bryce, and you’re family to him. To me too.”

“Sorry about the in-laws,” Jared manages.

“I think they’re lovely, you especially,” Elaine says, which is further proof that she’s probably too nice for her own good. “I worried about him a lot growing up. I’m sure you can — I worried about Bryce a lot. And I don’t worry — I don’t worry about him in the same way now. And you’re a big part of why I don’t. So thank you for that.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Jared says. “Like, he kind of — it’s all him. He’s the one who did all the work, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Elaine says, reaching out and squeezing his hand, and Jared squeezes back.

Downtown’s as big as mess as Jared thought it’d be, pedestrians in Flames jerseys everywhere, ignoring the lights and screwing up traffic, so by the time Jared’s dropped Elaine off and gotten back to their place Bryce is already home, looking absolutely wrung out, slumped on the couch with an empty bottle of water loosely cupped in his hands.

“Why’re you still up?” Jared asks.

“Waiting for you,” Bryce says, but he doesn’t protest when Jared pokes him to their room, supervises him getting into bed. Bryce gets out a plaintive “Come to bed,” before he crashes hard, and Jared gets Gatorade — blue, because Bryce earned it — and aspirin, puts them on Bryce’s bedside table in case he wakes up dehydrated and sore, which Jared knows from experience he almost definitely will. And Jared’s never played the kind of minutes Bryce did tonight. He adds an extra aspirin, just in case.

Bryce doesn’t stir when Jared climbs into bed, probably closer to passed out in exhaustion than simply asleep, body running hot when Jared curls up against him, almost feverish.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Jared says to the back of his neck, his still damp hair, but Bryce obviously isn’t awake enough to answer.


End file.
